


Seven-Year Itch

by afuzzyowl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, ie. gross schmoopy fluff plus realistic relationship stuff, nothing to do with cheating, nothing to do with the movie either lool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6420697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afuzzyowl/pseuds/afuzzyowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa wasn't sure why, but lately, saying 'thank you' to Iwaizumi was making his insides somersault like a professional acrobat. The first couple of times, he ignored it and chalked it up to hormones or some other equally inane reason. The third time, he realized something was off. By the fifth time, he knew he had a deeper problem on his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven-Year Itch

**Author's Note:**

> the iwaoi bug is real

Oikawa had never been very good at thanking other people. The words had been his bane since he was a child, forced out only through promises of reward or punishment, and while he'd somewhat gotten better at it as he'd grown and begun recognizing the importance of social niceties, saying it didn't get any easier.

Nowadays, a sarcastic or obligatory thanks, certainly, he could sing-song his way out of, but a genuine expression of gratitude—the type that couldn't be contained in its sincerity, overflowing from deep inside one’s bones and bursting out one’s throat, the type that made one wonder if maybe spontaneous combustion wasn't so unfeasible after all—Oikawa just wasn’t suited to those.

He didn’t know what it was about the two little words, so different from ‘I’m sorry,’ and yet so similar in the way they made his stomach implode in a black hole of vulnerability. As if saying the words put him in a position to be hurt.

Uncertainty. Misplaced uncertainty, no doubt, because Oikawa rarely felt that kind of honest, heart-wrenching gratitude, and when he did it was usually directed towards one Iwaizumi Hajime, whose middle name may as well have been _certainty_ : obvious in the way he moved and talked and even wrote, in the way he made Oikawa feel.

Certain. Safe.

So it came as a mystery why ‘thank you’s to Iwaizumi lately were making Oikawa feel this way.

* * *

The first time it happened was on the night Iwaizumi left for a business trip to Hokkaido. His adorably violent boyfriend had flown off earlier in the afternoon, leaving Oikawa to fend for himself for the next month. It would be the longest they had ever gone without each other since university, and already, Oikawa was starting to feel the effects.

In his stomach, mind you, which happened to be making the most embarrassing sounds at the moment. Just his stomach. He’d matured since high school, and living a month without Iwaizumi by his side would be a piece of cake. Probably. Most likely.

Or maybe not, he mourned as he practically crawled into the apartment, briefcase weighing an uncooperative ton as it dragged behind him. Work had been so busy lately that lunch breaks were a happy fantasy, and added to his lack of breakfast from waking up late this morning, Oikawa was so hungry he could die.

Without even bothering to wash his hands first, he stumbled into the dark kitchen and headed straight for the freezer, bypassing the lower fridge compartment completely because he knew there wouldn’t be anything there; both of them had been so swamped with work lately. Holy light washed upon his face as he scanned for some kind of frozen food, or even a microwave meal—but alas, he had forgotten Iwaizumi’s repeated reminders (read: yelling plus whacking) to go grocery shopping after work today. He groaned and considered ordering takeout, but that would mean at least another half-hour wait, and he didn’t think he could survive that long.

Fumbling for the light switch, Oikawa decided that his only choice would be to make some instant ramen. He’d hated the stuff ever since he had to do a project in his health science seminar about MSG, but they still kept some in the house for emergencies. He’d never allow Iwaizumi to ingest any of that poison in a million years, but, well, Iwaizumi wasn’t here, and Oikawa figured it was the lesser evil in this situation.

He shuffled towards the pantry, tired and hungry and...and...okay, he would admit it because he was a grown man who did not lie to himself about his emotions: that tiny feeling creeping into his chest was loneliness (too soon). Preoccupied by his angsting, he didn’t notice the clear plastic bag on the counter until it crinkled under his hand in his stretch to reach the high shelf.

“What the hell...”

Oikawa’s breath stuttered when he realized it was a bag of milk bread, the freshly baked, jumbo, expensive type that Iwaizumi almost never let him buy. He gasped and carefully picked it up, cursing himself for crushing a corner of the fluffy loaf with his stupid, clumsy hand. Then he noticed the scrap of white paper lying on the counter, edges cleanly torn, blocky handwriting scrawled between the lines.

_Trashykawa,_

_You forgot to go grocery shopping, didn’t you? Idiot. Eat this bread so you don’t die._

_Iwaizumi._

Oikawa felt warmth flush his face and let a silly grin stretch across it since no one was there to make fun of him anyway. He turned the piece of paper over, eager to see what else Iwaizumi might have written him, but it was blank.

The pull on Oikawa’s cheek muscles began to slacken, and he blinked slowly. No, no, it was too early to be disappointed. Maybe Iwaizumi had hidden notes in other places.

Hunger temporarily shoved to the backburner, he scoured the house, milk bread still hugged to his chest. After checking the bathroom mirror, under their bedroom pillows, the living room table, and even behind the curtains on all their windows, there was nothing to be found. Oikawa returned to the kitchen and pouted down at the note.

Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting a note at all because God forbid that man show Oikawa an ounce of excessive affection, but now that it was there, he wanted more. The sentences were short and mean and very Iwa-chan indeed, and Oikawa was so touched by the thought of Iwaizumi buying milk bread for him out of worry that he could literally cry, but...

But the guy was going to be gone for a whole month. Couldn’t he have at least written, like, a couple more lines? And signing the note “Iwaizumi,” like some stranger?

It was definitely the fatigue that was getting to him, because Oikawa swore he wasn’t usually so needy, but he couldn’t help the wave of longing that swept him over as it finally set in that no, Iwaizumi wasn’t there for him to complain to. And he wouldn’t be there for another twenty-nine days.

Oikawa plopped down on the kitchen floor right there in his wrinkled suit and socked feet, ready to gorge on the bread in his glumness. But when his phone vibrated in his pocket, he jumped and yanked it out of his pants, didn’t so much as check the caller before immediately answering.

“IWA-CHAN?!” he yelled, suddenly feeling life pump through his veins again.

 _“Whoa,”_ came Iwaizumi’s unmistakable voice, rough like it always sounded in the morning. Oikawa exhaled in quiet relief; he must have had a good sleep on the plane. _“That was fast.”_

“Why, of course,” he said, pulling his legs close and tugging absently at the hem of his sock. “I've been eagerly awaiting a call from my favourite caveman, after all~”

 _“Shut up, Asskawa.”_ Oikawa chortled merrily. _“Anyway, just letting you know that I arrived safely.”_

Oikawa meant to tease him, maybe say something along the lines of ‘um, yeah, Iwa-chan, I mean, I doubt ghosts could call people,’ but what came out instead was, “Good. That’s good.”

_“Yeah.”_

He waited, lips pressed together in a faint smile still, but it became apparent that Iwaizumi wasn’t planning on saying anything else when a few long seconds ticked by. “Wait, is that the only reason you called?”

 _“Huh? What other reason would there be?”_ Iwaizumi said, tone light in feigned ignorance. His tsundere-ness was always cute, but it was also kind of frustrating right now when Oikawa was sitting there alone on the kitchen floor in a dark house.

“I don’t know.” Oikawa viciously plucked at a loose string on his sock. “Can’t I at least get an ‘I miss you’ or something?”

Iwaizumi clicked his tongue. _“It’s been less than a day, Shittykawa.”_

Oikawa frowned. He knew that was his cue to whine, but his exhaustion became so heavy in that moment, he couldn’t even convince himself not to feel hurt that Iwaizumi apparently didn’t miss him as much as Oikawa did.

_“...Oikawa?”_

“What,” he mumbled, glaring at a dark stain on the cold floor tile.

Iwaizumi paused. _“You okay? Have you eaten yet? I left milk bread on the counter for you, ‘cause I knew you’d probably either forget or just be too lazy to go shopping—”_

“I saw it,” Oikawa allowed with a sigh. “Smart as ever, Iwa-chan. I would’ve eaten instant ramen if you hadn’t gotten it.”

_“...You were going to eat instant ramen?”_

“I was hungry, okay.”

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything for a moment, and Oikawa took the opportunity to listen to him breathe, familiar but a little raspy and not as even as Oikawa was used to. _“Right. By the way, I bought some groceries too. Have you checked the fridge?”_

“What?” Oikawa leaned over to tug at the refrigerator door. His mouth fell open when he spotted the mountain of tupperwares, a rainbow of lids packing Oikawa's various favourite dishes. Enough to last him at least a week. “Iwa-chan,” he said, speechless.

Iwaizumi let out a small “ _hah_ ,” something between a sigh and a snort. _“I knew you wouldn’t check,"_ he admonished, voice soft.

To his horror, Oikawa could feel his scalp start prickling, nose stinging as the back of his eyes throbbed. “Did you cook all this for me? It was my turn to do the shopping this month, too...”

 _“Well, we all know what happens when you try to cook,”_ Iwaizumi grumbled. _“I had some time before I left today, so I just made a bunch of food.”_

“Liar,” Oikawa sniffed. “You rushed through work to do this, didn’t you?”

_“I’m telling you I had extra time. Unlike somebody, I try not to overwork myself.”_

“Liar,” Oikawa murmured again.

The silence that followed sparked with unanticipated tension, and Oikawa flinched when what crackled over the line next was a harsh " _shut up,"_ Iwaizumi's voice close to cracking. _“Do you think I didn’t notice that the closer it got to today, the more time you spent drowning at work? I know you, you moron—you can't hide your ugly-ass panda eyes from me with a bit of make-up. I knew you wouldn’t eat properly after I left because you’re just a self-destructive shit like that! Goddammit! Making me worry like a fucking mother hen all the time!”_

Oikawa just sat there, stunned as Iwaizumi huffed raggedly. He imagined what Iwaizumi must’ve looked like in the pink apron Oikawa gave him last year for their anniversary (which he claimed to hate but wore every day), hastily chopping Oikawa’s most beloved veggies, tasting the tomato soup that he’d recently learned to make because Oikawa adored it so much, muttering to himself the way he did sometimes when he got caught up in his mental Asskawa Rants.

“Iwa-chan.”

 _“What,”_ Iwaizumi bit out.

“Hajime.”

 _“...What,”_ he repeated, quiet.

Oikawa swallowed, his insides twisting in a way they hadn’t since he’d confessed to Iwaizumi through squeezed-shut eyes and clenched teeth, ages and ages ago. “Thank you,” he said, the words rushing out, near unintelligible.

Iwaizumi sighed through his nose, and Oikawa could almost feel the way he’d pinch Oikawa’s ear if he were there. _“You’re welcome, Trashru,"_ he said. And then, after a beat: _“Don't die before I get back, got it?”_

* * *

The second time Oikawa distinctly felt that dropping feeling in his stomach was on an easy Saturday morning. His precious Iwa-chan had finally come home and Oikawa’s body was prettily marked to show it, aching in all the right places. He hummed some catchy commercial tune he’d heard on TV while cuddled up against Iwaizumi’s side last night, and ran a brush through his hair, preening for the first time in what felt like too long.

Then something caught his eye in the mirror, and he felt his heart slam once against his rib cage.

His shriek had Iwaizumi crashing out of bed and bursting into the washroom, eyes probably wild and hair sticking up in all directions. But Oikawa was too afraid to look at him and kept his eyes trained on the mirror, pulling at his brown curls.

“What?!” Iwaizumi yelled. “What’s going on?”

Oikawa refused to reply, sinking into a crouch as his knees wobbled. Iwaizumi rushed to his side, and suddenly hands were all over him like he was being checked for injuries. “Oikawa? What’s wrong? Oika—Tooru?”

Oikawa moaned like a wounded animal, curling up into a tighter ball. “Iwa-chaaaaaaaaaan,” he wailed into his hands.

 _“What?”_ Iwaizumi snapped. “You’re scaring me, c’mon, stop it.”

“Promise you’ll always love me?” Oikawa whimpered, peeking through his fingers. Iwaizumi’s eyes went round before immediately narrowing, brows knitting together.

“What the fuck is going on?” he hissed, trying to pry Oikawa’s hands away.

“Promise me!” Oikawa whined, wiggling out of the clamps around his wrists and shaking Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Promise!”

“Of course I promise!” Iwaizumi shouted in his face. “You fucking moron, what could—what’s wro—”

“I found white hair,” Oikawa breathed, slumping into Iwaizumi’s chest. “And...not just one or two. There were, like, five. No, maybe ten. Iwa-chan, what am I gonna do? I’m only twenty-four, this isn’t supposed to be happening!”

At the silence that followed, Oikawa peeked up, only to find Iwaizumi glowering down at him with all the power of the suns, murderous.

“Wh-What! Why are you looking at me like that!”

Iwaizumi’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling, and then the strength left his limbs as he collapsed to a seat, arms left loosely circling Oikawa’s shoulders. Oikawa pulled back to stare at him in alarm, but Iwaizumi just groaned, a sound of bone-deep anguish.

“Why do I bother?” he lamented to the skies, and Oikawa punched his arm.

“THIS IS A SERIOUS PROBLEM, IWA-CHAN!”

*

Despite Iwaizumi’s heartfelt reassurances (“you’d look pretty hot with silver hair, I guess,” “girls think older guys are sexy, right,” “I mean, at least you’re not baldi—NOT THAT I WOULD LIKE YOU ANY LESS IF YOU WERE, OKAY?” etc. etc.), Oikawa spent the entire day glued to him. He would’ve followed Iwaizumi into the washroom if the other man hadn’t hurled his house slipper straight into Oikawa’s pout, which only made him sulk even harder until he was later bodily dragged into Iwaizumi’s lap for begrudging cuddles. Oikawa was so enamoured by the rare open tenderness that he soon forgot why he’d been depressed in the first place, all snuggled up with his back against Iwaizumi, reading _Starship Troopers_ as the latter finished up a report on his laptop.

That night, after a couple rounds of slow, warm sex, they curled up together under the covers, and Oikawa fell asleep within seconds, looking forward to a peaceful morning and maybe a bit of pre-breakfast friskiness, too. But he was woken when the room was still gray-blue to the feeling of his hair being gently stroked.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Iwaizumi whispered. In the time it took Oikawa to register the words and roll over, the front door was already closing. A little miffed that his morning plans were ruined but sleepy enough to not kick up a fuss, he fell asleep again with his nose pressed into Iwaizumi’s pillow.

The next time his eyes cracked open, it was to the smell of pancakes wafting in from the kitchen, making his stomach rumble. He dragged himself out of bed and found Iwaizumi in the kitchen dressed in sweatpants and an old gray shirt that was a pinch too tight around the biceps. Oikawa sidled up behind him, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist.

“G’mornin’,” he mumbled.

“Hey. Pancakes are almost done,” Iwaizumi said, jabbing an elbow towards the stack that was already lying on the table. “You can start first if you’re hungry.”

“That’s okay, I want to wait for Iwa-chan.” Oikawa watched Iwaizumi flip the pancake expertly, utterly unashamed at the arousal that coiled in his gut as he admired the flex of tight muscles.

“Stop it,” Iwaizumi said, even though Oikawa hadn’t so much as twitched. “Eat first.”

“I wasn’t gonna do anything!”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“It’s true!” Oikawa sniveled, nosing at Iwaizumi’s neck. “It’s late and I’m starving and Iwa-chan’s pancakes are too delicious for me to ignore. Where did you go earlier, anyway?”

Iwaizumi hummed. “Bought some stuff. I’ll show you after breakfast.”

*

Once the dishes were done, Iwaizumi sat Oikawa down on the couch and dumped the contents of a small grocery bag on the living room table. Oikawa gaped at the pouches of powder and various other tools lying in front of him.

“—got it from the hair salon a couple blocks down, and it was actually pretty cheap," Iwaizumi was telling him as he arranged it all into a neat pile. "Anyway, apparently you're supposed to mix the henna and indigo so that the red won’t be too obvious on your,” he paused, “lighter hairs. Then you just sorta paint the stuff on. And after that, we'll have to wrap up your head with saran wrap ‘cause you’re supposed to let the dye set for at least two or so hours. So? You up for it?”

Oikawa took a good look at everything Iwaizumi had lain out. Other than the powder and some stuff that had probably been collected from their kitchen, like a bowl and yogurt carton, there was also a rather complicated-looking applicator brush thingy and a mixing stick. Oikawa bit his lip.

Iwaizumi frowned a little. “What, too much trouble? It does take a while, but the process should be easy enough, especially if someone else does it for you. And this is all-natural stuff that’s apparently really good for your hair since it locks the moisture in and restores acid-alkaline balance.”

Dread sank in Oikawa’s chest. “But...I’ve never dyed my hair before,” he said weakly. “I don’t know how to do it, and who knows how it’ll turn out?”

Iwaizumi stared at him like Oikawa had just said he loved Ushiwaka and wanted to be best friends with him forever. “Obviously it’s gonna be hard to do on your own, so I’ll do it for you. And how do you know you won’t like it if you never even give it a shot?”

Suspicions confirmed, Oikawa pointedly squawked, “ _you’re_ going to dye my hair for me?” and backed away as if in fright to complete the act, hoping Iwaizumi would just let it go. Out of habit, he quipped, “Iwa-chan, you don’t even know how to use hair gel!” but immediately bit his tongue upon realizing his mistake.

Sure enough, Iwaizumi barked, “Shut up, Trashykawa!” and grabbed Oikawa by the arm. “I’ve watched YouTube tutorials and it looks really fucking easy, so hurry and just get in the damn bathroom already!”

“B-But Iwa-chan!” Oikawa dragged his feet, pulling back half-heartedly. “I don’t wanna!”

“Why the hell not?” Iwaizumi whirled and glared at him. “You’re the one who moped around for a whole day even after I told you your hair was fine, idiot!”

Oikawa crossed his arms and decided that giving away part of the truth allowed a better chance of throwing Iwaizumi off his tracks. “Iwa-chan, do you even know how annoying dyeing your hair can be? It’s messy and takes forever, and roots are ugly, you know! Once you start, you’ll have to keep re-dyeing and re-dyeing, and it’s such a commitment because there’s no _end_ to it, especially since I’ll just keep getting more gray hair!”

Iwaizumi’s mouth opened in argument before his eyes roved down to Oikawa’s tapping foot. When they snapped back up to his face, Oikawa steeled his expression into an indignant moue against the scrutinizing gaze.

Slowly, Iwaizumi’s face softened. He took Oikawa’s wrist in his hand again, this time gently as he started for the washroom once more. Oikawa frowned.

“Iwa-chan, were you listeni—”

“Moron,” Iwaizumi said lowly, glancing over his shoulder, lips pressed into a line. “You should know by now that you don’t have to worry about causing me trouble.” Oikawa’s frown screwed up into a grimace, and he turned his stare down to the warm hand around his wrist. Iwaizumi let him stew in his self-imposed silence for a bit, opening the door and nudging Oikawa into one of the barstools he’d dragged in from the dining room earlier. He quirked an eyebrow, mouth twisted wryly. “Stop pouting already, idiot. Grab the vaseline for me.”

Oikawa waited until he disappeared before sighing and reaching into the sink cabinet, fishing out the tub. Iwaizumi came back with the things from the living room, snapping on disposable gloves and uncapping the plastic yogurt container, which Oikawa now saw had brown paste inside. Iwaizumi held it up to Oikawa’s hair, pursing his lips. “Think this color is close enough? Maybe I should add a bit more indigo.”

Oikawa scowled. “Why’d you bother asking me when you already mixed the dye and everything? You should respect my opinion too, Iwa-chan.”

“I do.” Iwaizumi took the brush and dipped it before nodding to himself and setting it aside. “I’ve just decided that your opinion this time is stupid. Besides, you don’t have a reason to say no when I’m the one doing all the work.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to,” Oikawa muttered. Iwaizumi blinked once, deliberate.

“Uh huh. Now stop squirming around.” He eased himself into the chair across from Oikawa’s and uncapped the vaseline, dabbing a careful finger inside before leaning close. Oikawa petulantly admired the concentrated look on his face as he applied the jelly to Oikawa’s hairline, lifting his bangs to get under them. Oikawa wondered if the redness of Iwaizumi’s eyes was from staying up late to scour Google for tutorials on How to Dye Your Trash Boyfriend’s Hair with Henna.

After he was done with the vaseline, Iwaizumi went about methodically splitting locks of Oikawa’s hair and generously globbing the dye on the strands. Even though Oikawa was still kind of mad, the way Iwaizumi gingerly clipped his bangs away from his face with bobby pins made his heart ache.

Maybe fifteen minutes passed before Iwaizumi sighed. “How long are you gonna sulk for, Asskawa?”

“Hmph.” Oikawa turned away.

“Hey, don’t move around! Ugh, flinging this shit all over the place, you idiot.”

“...Sorry,” Oikawa conceded. Iwaizumi eyed him flatly.

It was another few minutes before Oikawa caved and said as nonchalantly as he could, "The novelty will wear off and then you'll get tired of doing this~"

"Nope, don't think so," Iwaizumi said.

"I could just do it myself. Or go to a salon."

"Nah, don't waste money on salons, they're expensive as shit. Just let me do it, it's no skin off my back. And don't tell Matsukawa and Hanamaki I said this, but messing with your hair is actually kind of...relaxing."

Oikawa snorted. "Yeah, well, what if it's tax season and you don't feel like wasting time dyeing my beautiful hair?"

Iwaizumi shrugged. "Tax season doesn't last forever. And you're seriously blowing this out of proportion. An hour or two once every few weeks isn't a big deal."

Oikawa didn't have anything to say to that, so he worked up the nerve and mumbled, “Thank you, Iwa-chan,” ignoring the butterflies, no, mini mutant volleyballs smacking around in his stomach.

Iwaizumi’s lips twitched into a tiny smile. He stopped what he was doing, eyes lidded just enough to make Oikawa’s face hot. “When are you going to stop worrying about causing me trouble or getting in my way or wasting my time or whatever it is that’s always rolling around in that empty head of yours, huh? Getting caught up on stupid things when your whining and clinging already cause me enough trouble...”

“Rude, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa huffed, but even he could hear that it was lacking its usual gusto. “You love me anyway!”

“Well, yeah,” Iwaizumi said way too easily, and Oikawa’s entire face spasmed. “It’s been six years and I’m still here.”

“More like twenty if you count how long we’ve known each other!”

“Shit, you’re right. Why do I do this to myself.”

“Mean! You’re so mean to me, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cried, making to turn and snag Iwaizumi around the waist, but the latter laughed and braced his foot on Oikawa’s thigh from behind, restraining his movement.

“Stop moving already, Twitchykawa.”

* * *

The third time Oikawa thanked Iwaizumi was also the first time he thought that perhaps something was wrong.

It was a few months later, and Oikawa's turn to go on a business trip. This one was set to last only two weeks, but being forced to parade around with a plastic grin the entire day and no Iwaizumi by his side meant the first couple of days alone felt like months. One week in and he found himself constantly distracted, checking his phone too often for texts or Facebook messages or the rare snap of random things, like their house cactus (usually with a caption along the lines of “cactus living the good life without you,” which Oikawa just rolled his eyes at because 1) he’d never actually killed a cactus before, okay, he just gave them too much water sometimes out of _love_ , and 2) Iwaizumi still refused to call it by its actual name—Iwa-Iwa—chosen by Oikawa as the one who’d bought it and who therefore had absolute naming rights. It wasn’t his fault Iwa-chan pretended to be all spiky like a cactus.)

Pointless business meetings that occurred only because the boss needed his daily rant-at-employees-as-stress-relief-and-get-paid-to-do-it sessions became Oikawa’s oasis in the work day, when he could text Iwaizumi to his heart’s content. Glancing to the side to make sure everyone still had their eyes trained on the recycled PowerPoint about workplace motivation or some other bullshit, Oikawa tapped on his phone under the table.

You: IWA-CHAN  
You: PLEASE  
You: WORK IS BORIGN  
You: AND EVERYONE HERE IS SO FAKE NICE I WANA PUKE  
You: INSULT ME OR SOMETHING

The reply came immediately, making Oikawa grin.

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: you do know that 99% of your personality is being fake-nice, right?

You: RUDE, IWA-CHAN, SO RUDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’M GONNA CRY!!!!!! I MEAN IT!! ಥ_ಥ

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: k. send pics

You: UM  
You: SADISTIC MUCH??  
You: i bet it’s cuz you think I’m pretty when I cry \\(ﾟεﾟ)/

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: ha, nice one  
IWA-CHAN BB ♡: brb gonna screenshot that for matsukawa and hanamaki

You: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW  
You: THAT WAS UNCALLED FOR???  
You: I think we should see other people  
You: clearly iwa-chan isn’t deserving of my charismatic, athletic, super sexy self（;≧皿≦）

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: oh, joy, i’ll finally be rid of you. it’s been how many decades now?

Oikawa scowled when his chest gave an unexpected twinge at the joke. He'd set himself up for that one, and the response was typical of their normal ribbing, but for some reason, he was itching to throw his phone on the table in a self-indulgent clatter. His leg began jumping at the sudden rush of irritation as he crossed his arms, annoyed and puzzled at his annoyance.

Two seconds later, his phone vibrated again, and Oikawa checked it resentfully.

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: are you being all pissy now  
IWA-CHAN BB ♡: you started it  
IWA-CHAN BB ♡: trashykawa  
IWA-CHAN BB ♡: asskawa  
IWA-CHAN BB ♡: shittykawa  
IWA-CHAN BB ♡: cactuskawa

At that, Oikawa gasped.

You: YOU’RE THE CACTUS, STUPID IWA-CHAN! I’M GONNA PUNCH YOU AS SOON AS I SEE YOU DAMMIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: bring it on

You: UGGGGHGHGHGHHGHGHHHH

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: you have 1 week to practice your punches  
IWA-CHAN BB ♡: I’ll be waiting

You: iwa-chan, have you forgotten that I’m 5cm taller than you? ٩(╬ŏ3ŏ)و but i’ll go easy on you since i love you most of the time, don’t worry ♥

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: taller and still always losing to me at arm wrestling

You: WOW IWA CHAN LOW BLOW LOW BLOW

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: yeah, yeah. anyway, I have a meeting to go to now. an actual one. where I have to pay attention.

You: ...  
You: FINE, PRIORITIZE UR DUMB MEETING OVER ME

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: shut up and do your work, idiot

You: (ಠ ∩ಠ)(ಠ ∩ಠ)(ಠ ∩ಠ)(´;︵;`)(´;︵;`)(´;︵;`)

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: you know that the faster you finish, the faster you come back, right? moron

Any lingering tension Oikawa had been feeling from earlier immediately evaporated like morning dew in the sun, and his lips stretched in a huge grin.

You: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG IWA CHAN  
You: OMGOMGOMGOMG JUST BE HONEST AND TELL ME YOU MISS ME  
You: MWAH MWAH

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: shut up, cactus needs water and I don’t know how much you normally give to it

You: his name is iwa-iwa, iwa-chan (♥ω♥ ) ~♪

IWA-CHAN BB ♡: can you fucking not  
IWA-CHAN BB ♡: ok I seriously have to go now. later, crappykawa

You: okayyyyyyyyyyyyy...ttyl then, iwa-chaaannnn（´・｀ ）♡

*

The banter continued over the next few days through texts and video chats. They started innocent, but the more time passed, the lonelier the nights got, and before long Oikawa was using every free moment to spam Iwaizumi with filthy provocations. By the start of the second week, Iwaizumi had given up his “oh my god stop” and “you are so damn shameless” in favor of “you'll be screaming and begging for me before i'm done with you.”

In hindsight, Oikawa should’ve seen the backfire coming, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. The night Iwaizumi finally succumbed to Oikawa’s needling for video chat sex, Oikawa ended up so restless afterwards that he couldn’t sleep, lying in bed wondering how Iwaizumi had gotten so _dirty_ when he’d been but a blushing virgin in college.

But of course, things didn't simply sail smoothly after that. Oikawa became so busy that he slept maybe twelve hours between the last four days and barely finished all his reports on time. It was his own fault, what with his earlier slacking off, but as dull as parts of his work inevitably proved to be, he still enjoyed his job and strived to do well.

As a result, on the plane ride back, he was jacked up on caffeine and couldn’t nap, fingers drumming on his arm rest as he reread all his texts from Iwaizumi. He was getting so desperate that it was ridiculous, but it was normal to want to be with your lover after a couple weeks away, wasn't it? He just wanted to be close, so close he wouldn't be able to tell which part was him and which Iwaizumi. He needed it.

Iwaizumi had said he wouldn’t be able to pick Oikawa up at the airport since he’d be getting off work late, but his feigned scowl and crossed arms and awkward “surprise, idiot” were the first things to greet Oikawa anyway, which definitely did not help the dance that was going on in his rib cage.

The smell of the car, of him and Iwaizumi and takeout that the latter had probably gotten before speeding to the airport, made Oikawa’s shoulders loosen for the first time in days and his eyelids droop. But he had been waiting for too long to just sleep.

At a red light, he reached over and unceremoniously grabbed Iwaizumi’s crotch.

“What the fuck!” Iwaizumi flinched, cutting off whatever he’d been saying earlier. “Shit, Oikawa, that’s dangerous!”

“Oh, please, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa casually squeezed. “Don’t act like we haven’t done worse before. Besides, I’m tired of waiting!” To his great surprise, Iwaizumi just groaned and let his head fall back against the headrest.

“Fine,” he growled, voice husky. “Just this once. And only at stop lights.”

Oikawa felt heat surge in his stomach at Iwaizumi’s easy acquiescence and nodded, wordless, tongue swiping over his lips.

At the next red light, he deftly undid Iwaizumi’s pants and pulled his cock out, mouth watering at how flushed and hard it was already. “Someone’s sure missed me,” he murmured, palm sliding over the hot flesh. Iwaizumi made a noise in the back of his throat that made Oikawa’s dick twitch in his pants, and he swallowed, breaths heavy.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi sighed, hips tipping forward in slow rolls. Oikawa whimpered.

“Iwa-chan, can I suck your dick? Please, let me suck your dick.” Iwaizumi groaned and shook his head.

“No. Don’t you dare take off your seatbelt.”

Oikawa whined but relented, knowing he wouldn’t win that argument, and settled for rubbing slow circles over the head of Iwaizumi’s erection. When the light turned green, he obediently retracted his arm, licking precum off his palm and moaning.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi hissed. “Don’t do that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Oikawa said with a smirk. The other man’s knuckles whitened against the steering wheel.

“I’m fucking you against the wall when we get back,” he snarled, eyes slanting to sweep over Oikawa, up to down then back again. “I’m gonna pin you to it so you can’t move an inch and finger you ‘til you’re crying for my cock.”

Oikawa gasped audibly, his hands flying to the button of his pants. He wasn’t hard yet, probably from the exhaustion, but he desperately needed to be, his stomach coiling from the pressure.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Iwaizumi ordered. “That’s my job.”

Oikawa growled in frustration but forced his hands to drop to his sides, squirming in his seat. When the car stopped again, he grabbed Iwaizumi’s dick with vengeful glee, relishing in the pants that grated from the other man’s throat.

Much too long later, they finally pulled into their driveway, and Iwaizumi tucked himself back in his pants and ripped the key out of the ignition before stalking over to the passenger door, yanking it open. Oikawa jumped into his arms and they made out sloppily as they stumbled for the front door.

“Y-Your luggage,” Iwaizumi huffed while Oikawa sucked on his throat.

“Leave it,” he mumbled, digging in Iwaizumi’s jacket pocket for the keys to the house. As they fumbled around, the automatic porch light suddenly flashed on, dousing them in fluorescent brightness. Iwaizumi regained enough of his senses to briefly pull away and fish his keys out, shoving one into the lock. He turned to face Oikawa, shiny lips parted, and abruptly froze. Oikawa frowned impatiently.

“What are you doing, Iwa-chan? C’mon, let’s go...in...” The words died when Iwaizumi cupped warm palms to Oikawa’s cheeks, thumbs sliding under his eyes.

“How long’s it been since you’ve slept?” he asked, face twisting.

“What? Who cares about that right now?” Oikawa said desperately, hands circling Iwaizumi’s wrists. “Let’s just get inside first, don’t you wanna fu—”

“No.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened in incredulity. He stared. “No?”

“No,” Iwaizumi repeated, a glint in his eyes that let Oikawa know there would be no chance of negotiation. “You’re going to bed. To sleep.” And he dragged Oikawa inside, latching the door and kicking his shoes off, then pulled them towards the bedroom.

Oikawa’s mouth was still gaped open in shock, a sour taste in the back of his throat, and it wasn’t until Iwaizumi began digging out their pyjamas that he recovered enough brain function to stutter, “B-But I thought...I mean, I want—”

“To sleep,” Iwaizumi finished, and coolly grabbed Oikawa between the legs, the taller man yelping. “You’re not even hard right now. _You_. Who usually starts rubbing all over me if I so much as breathe on your ear. Who once came from me just biting your nipple, you pervert.” He ignored Oikawa’s embarrassed squeaks, rolling his eyes. “Have you even seen your face? I didn’t notice at the airport because the lights were dimmed, but you look so shitty I’m surprised the garbage man didn’t take you out along with the trash.”

“Rude, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cried, punching Iwaizumi in the bicep, but the man just leveled him with a flat stare and began unbuttoning Oikawa’s shirt for him. “Wait, wait! At least let me shower first! I don’t want to climb into our bed all gross and sweaty. And come with me, okay? Please?”

Iwaizumi considered for a second, then sighed and nodded. “Fine. No trying anything though, got it?”

*

Iwaizumi was at half-mast when he took his clothes off and stayed that way through the shower, his fingers gentle and thorough in Oikawa’s hair, palms tender over his skin. Oikawa tried to reach for him a couple of times, but Iwaizumi just clicked his tongue and swatted him away before kissing him under the ear to soften the rejection.

Oikawa didn’t realize he was crashing from the caffeine until he saw the bed, fell on it, and couldn’t get back up. Iwaizumi snorted and joined him after turning off all the lights, heartbeat strong against Oikawa’s back as he curled their legs together. He was still a little hard against Oikawa’s butt.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan,” he forced himself to whisper into the darkness even as his consciousness faded, voice scratchy with tiredness.

“Don’t be, idiot,” Iwaizumi sighed into his neck. “We can have sex any time. I’m just happy you're here in the same bed.”

Oikawa used the last of his energy to flip over so he could nuzzle his face in Iwaizumi’s collarbone, breathing him in in relief. Iwaizumi’s arms tightened around his middle, exhalations puffing into Oikawa’s clean, dry hair.

“Thank you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmured, something dark inside him trembling even through his tiredness.

Iwaizumi hummed. “Sleep, moron.”

* * *

The fourth time it happened was when Iwaizumi used his own ten-minute break to drop off a bistro sandwich at Oikawa’s office because Oikawa had forgotten his lunch at home. He sat at his desk for long minutes afterwards, replaying in his mind his ‘thank you’ and Iwaizumi’s soft answering smirk, bewildered at the way his heartbeat throbbed in his ears from a feeling similar to despair. He wondered what was wrong with himself.

* * *

The fifth time, Oikawa was sitting on the toilet at home when Iwaizumi flung open the bathroom door to chuck a roll of toilet paper at his head, then slammed the door shut again. Oikawa looked over to see maybe five segments of toilet paper left on the dispenser, and felt his chest squeeze, fingers numbing.

And that was when he realized he had a problem on his hands.

* * *

“—and then he threw toilet paper at me and said, ‘you’re gonna run out, stupid,’ AND WALKED OUT! JUST LIKE THAT! AND MY HEART WAS LIKE BLRGHGHGHBLHGHGH AND I WANTED TO EITHER SPRINT OUTSIDE AND TACKLE HIM OR CRY BUT I COULDN’T, ‘CAUSE, you know, stuff was coming ou—”

“ _OKAY_ , we get the idea,” Kuroo said, holding up a hand. Daichi looked a cross between weirded out and sympathetic as he threw back his coffee like a shot, and Suga was just aww’ing into his hands. “All right, so you love the guy to pieces. What else is new? Didn’t have to drag us out just to rub into our faces how disgustingly lovey-dovey you two are.”

“You don’t _understand_!” Oikawa wailed, slamming his hands on the table. “These gross palpitations haven’t happened since when we first started dating! I don’t know what’s going on anymore!”

“It’s true love,” Daichi said with a grave nod. “You can’t help yourself.”

Suga put a hand on Oikawa’s as Kuroo cackled and smacked Daichi on the back. “Have you considered that maybe it was the distance? You’re not used to not having Iwaizumi around for so long, so that first business trip might have triggered something! It’s nothing to be ashamed of, for sure.”

“Yeah, distance does make the heart grow fonder,” Daichi added.

“Or maybe you’re just having a midlife crisis,” Kuroo snickered.

“UGGGHHH! You’re not helping!!” Oikawa pulled his hair. A passing waitress flinched away in alarm, and he drooped in defeat.

“If it really bothers you so much, why not talk it out with Iwaizumi?” Suga suggested. “Though I honestly don’t think it’s a big deal.”

Oikawa sighed and buried his face in his arms. Even he didn’t know why he was freaking out over something that didn’t seem to be having a particularly negative impact on his life, but that small niggling sensation at the back of his mind just wouldn’t let it go.

* * *

They were lounging on the couch watching Star Wars, right at that part where Darth Vader was confessing, “Luke...I am...” when Oikawa decided this was as good a time as ever, and said, “Iwa-chan, lately my chest gets all warm and tight when I’m with you.”

Iwaizumi choked and spat out his beer, his expression freezing in astonishment. “Wh-What?” he croaked, face starting to glow firetruck-red. “Bastard, are you trying to kill me?”

“No, but my heart sure as hell is trying to kill _me_ ,” Oikawa complained. “Make it stop.”

Iwaizumi gawked at him for a long, silent moment.

“It’s bothering me,” Oikawa admitted. “These. Feelings, or whatever. So...I was wondering if it bothered you, too.”

Iwaizumi’s brows scrunched up, mouth closing and opening. “Are you...asking me if I love you?” he asked incredulously. In the background, trumpets and drums were booming, but neither of them heard.

Oikawa pursed his lips. “No, that's not what I meant by 'feelings'."

Iwaizumi studied him through squinted, suspicious eyes. “You’ve been acting weird since my business trip,” he finally said. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Oikawa said exasperatedly, throwing his hands up. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“No, it isn’t. You do know what’s going on, you’re just asking what my opinion of it is.”

Oikawa frowned. “But I really don’t...”

Iwaizumi turned to fully face him, head inclined. “You asked if ‘it’ bothered me. By ‘it,’ are you referring to your feelings or mine? And what feelings are you talking about?”

Oikawa stared down at his lap. Maybe he should’ve thought things through before asking Iwaizumi, but it was too late to be regretting anything now. Iwaizumi’s eyes were boring into him with such an intensity that he knew it was time for him to stop putting off the inevitable. He had to come up with something for his own sake.

But how was he supposed to explain weeks of irrational spikes of emotion? Getting mad without a good reason, getting so lonely even when he logically knew Iwaizumi was a phone call away, hours away if he really wanted to see him, and only weeks away before he was permanently back? Plus that urgency to thank him, the way Oikawa got...nervous doing it.

Yes, he realized. That was why he'd thought the whole situation was off. Because those hadn't been cute little butterflies flitting about in his gut from expressing his love; he'd been uneasy. Anxious.

Did Oikawa, in reality, know exactly what was bothering him, and that was why he was scared? Because it was a serious issue? Or a ridiculous one? But what was he so upset about? There was nothing to _be_ upset about, in the first place. Everything was going well: his work, his friendships, his life with Iwaizumi. Oikawa looked up at him now, at his tense posture, the worry lines on his forehead, the tight pull of his mouth—how much he obviously cared for Oikawa.

At an especially loud explosion, his gaze swept over to the TV, and then by chance caught on the calendar hanging on the wall. The puzzle pieces fell together, making him stiffen in realization.

“Our anniversary’s in a week,” he breathed. Iwaizumi blinked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”

“Our seventh one,” Oikawa laughed dryly. “That’s so ironic.”

“I have no idea what you’re—” Iwaizumi’s eyes suddenly went wide. Oikawa watched the gears in his head turn, grim as he waited for the inevitable click. Iwaizumi picked up the remote control and turned off the TV.

“Okay...I get it now,” he said slowly, and licked his lips. “Okay. So that’s why you sounded like you were about to cry that first day I was gone. And why you didn’t want me dyeing your hair. And why you were desperate to do it the night you came back.” He didn’t sound angry or disappointed or sad, like Oikawa had been expecting. He sounded concerned.

“I mean, I didn’t know then. It was just...kinda unconscious, I guess,” Oikawa admitted. He was aching to hold Iwaizumi’s hand or crawl into his arms, desperate for any kind of contact, but somehow that felt taboo right then.

Until Iwaizumi pinched his cheek.

“Hey!” Oikawa protested, rubbing the warming skin, but Iwaizumi just did it again on the other one, harder.

“You’re a fucking moron,” he said bluntly. “What, did me being away for a single month make you doubt my feelings? Worried about a seven-year itch? Seriously, good thing I wasn’t gone for longer ‘cause who knows what you’d get yourself all worked up about if I wasn't here to kick your ass into gear.”

“That’s not—why do you have to put it like that?” Oikawa snapped. “Us being apart just made me understand how happy I was about having you in my life, all right? And thankful for all the things you do for me, which was why it was really important for me to let you know how much I appreciate you.”

Iwaizumi’s frown went lax. “That’s fine and all, but how did that lead to this, now?”

“Well, I. Started wondering how different everything would be if I didn’t have you, so...”

“So you tried not to be a pain in the ass because you were afraid I’d get tired of you?”

“No!” Oikawa half-shouted, frantic. “I don’t doubt your feelings, Hajime! What I’m scared of is the future, because who knows who we’ll meet, or what might happen? Our relationship is good for us right now, but what if it, I don’t know, gets old or stagnates or something? Or what if someone even better comes along? You can’t _control_ who you fall in lov—”

“Listen,” Iwaizumi sighed, running his hands through his hair. “It’s been forever already. Don’t you think it’s too late to be worrying about these things?”

Oikawa scowled. “I don’t know. They call it a seven-year itch for a reason.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not like those other flaky couples, if you haven't noticed.” Iwaizumi inched closer, cupping the back of Oikawa’s neck and ruffling the hair there. He smirked, crooked but sincere, so handsome Oikawa’s lungs felt like they would burst.

“All relationships settle, but that doesn’t mean it has to get boring or that we have to lose our passion or whatever. It’s been years and years now. Have you gotten tired of me yet?”

Oikawa shook his head furiously. “No one is as fun to talk to as you, Iwa-chan! Even if I run out of things to say sometimes, our silences still feel like home to me.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi said, smiling. “Same with me. And that thing about meeting other people..." He hesitated, pain flashing across his face. "Have you...met someone?"

Oikawa stomach bottomed out, and he grabbed Iwaizumi's free hand, crushing it in his grip. "No! No, no, no! It's always been you, Iwa-chan."

"Okay." Iwaizumi squeezed him back, eyes steady on his. "Then what’s the point in worrying about things we can’t control? Besides, if you wanna be realistic, think of all the people we’ve met in school or at work. Our personalities were so, I don't know, malleable at that age, but you were still the one who fit me best. No one got me better than you, and I liked that. And now we’re older, and kinda more mature, I guess. Actually, you probably haven't grown at all, moron, but anyway, my point is, even now, I don’t want things any other way.”

Tears welled up in Oikawa’s eyes, and he sniffed. He felt like an idiot, but the relief was almost palpable. He took in a shuddery breath. “Do you like that you like me?”

“No shit. Liking anyone else would just be,” Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose, “weird.”

“Hmph. High praise coming from you.”

“You know, this isn’t just routine, Tooru. I’m here because I want to be.”

Oikawa let out a watery laugh and rubbed at his eyes. He took in steadying breaths, the circles that Iwaizumi's thumb was drawing on the back of his hand calming. “I see," he said with another chuckle. "I see, so that’s how it is! You’re right, Iwa-chan. I’m sorry.”

Iwaizumi bumped their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s not what I wanna hear, Crappykawa,” he scolded, arms winding around Oikawa's middle.

“Thank you,” Oikawa whispered even though he knew that wasn’t it either, just for the sake of tradition, and also because he meant it. He really, really meant it.

Iwaizumi hummed, knowing, waiting.

Oikawa grinned and reveled in their closeness for another minute, before he whispered, “I love you,” and kissed him. Iwaizumi's lips curved in response.

“I love you, too, even if you’re fucking stupid sometimes,” he deadpanned.

“RUDE, IWA-CHAN! It’s not my fault I love you so much that I go stupid!” Iwaizumi’s face got so hot that Oikawa could feel it across the centimeter of space between them, and he hugged him closer, squeezing their cheeks together to share the warmth of the other's rare blush. It was a wonder how he could spout the dirtiest things but went red whenever he was caught off-guard by Oikawa's declarations of love.

“God, you’re embarrassing,” Iwaizumi griped.

* * *

_Two days later:_

Oikawa waited in front of the bathroom, toilet paper roll in hand, breaths quick in anticipation. A short second later, he heard an, “aw, goddammit,” and immediately leaped into action, bursting inside. Iwaizumi yelped and flinched back in surprise on the toilet, pants around his ankles. Oikawa threw the roll in the air, then tossed it to him like a volleyball before quickly closing the door and tearing down the hallway, laughing like a hyena, eyes wet with mirth.

“OIKAWA!” Iwaizumi roared from behind the shut door. “YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE, I’M NOT THANKING YOU, YOU SHIT!”

He did later anyway, with a sardonic smirk and gentle eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> AUGHGH I'M SORRY 
> 
> um anyway thanks for reading this longass thing, if you have the time i'd love to know what you thought!!
> 
> p.s. i think officially it's supposed to be "assikawa," since the "i" is carried over from "oikawa"...but doesn't that just sound super un-english somehow? D: sorry, the nerdy part of me kinda balked lol
> 
> but yeah that's all folks
> 
> *chants* iwaoi 5ever


End file.
